


Servine's Best Friend

by MicahDebrink



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6808735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MicahDebrink/pseuds/MicahDebrink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We asked pokemon all over Unova: who is your best friend? This response intrigued us the most. A little story to perk up your day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Servine's Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> (Disclaimer: Pokémon and its trademarked characters do not belong to me.)  
> 

Servine's Best Friend

"Describe your best friend."

She has sensuous curves that sweep smoothly across its silhouette. She glimmers in the light in the most pure luster. She proclaims my power…to have the privilege of someone like this. Everyone has a little obsession. Something…that others just don't understand.

Don't get me wrong here. I'm not that violent of a Pokémon. Ever since I was a Snivy, when I found her, broken, lying in the woods, I knew she would be the perfect playmate. I nursed her back to health, used plenty of alcohol and petroleum jelly to heal her wounds. My neighbors…they did not like my new friend. They cringed when I carried her around. "A bizarre obsession", they say. They nearly shriek in fright when I play toys with her. I nearly shriek in passion when I play toys with her. The latter has become common, now I've grown up.

My closest friends grew to accept my bizarre obsession, considering I'm pretty much your average female Servine otherwise. I live in a small village outside of Unova, only accessible by traversing miles of jungle; of course, not a problem for us Grass types. Just a while ago, I heard Danny, one of our neighbors, ran away from home, only to return seven months later. The whole village was holding a mini celebration for his return, at the request of his mom.

I didn't go. Crowds aren't really for me. Me, I stayed in my house, down in some far-flung outskirt of the village. Crowds stress me. They make me feel so trapped. All those bodies, crowding, those fucking smiles at my sorry face, all those sounds…I couldn't take it anymore.

My playmate helped me thrash my room. Slice the poster. Scratch the pillow. She has so much sharper nails than I do. This always happens. I got too lost in the moment; thought I was in that crowded party for a while. Told you I can't handle crowds so well. I avoid them…for their safety. Though my parents didn't mind my bizarre new playmate, now I've grown up and have a place of my own I feel more free to…deepen my relationship with her.

We thrashed the room; now she has been hurt in play. I must tend to her wounds. I gently lick her outside surface, healing the scratches on her skin. I gently spread the petroleum jelly on her…most special part, and begin our emotional healing. The treatment should last about six hours or so. She'll be all better tomorrow. Just what the doctor ordered.

I help my playmate very much, yes, but she has helped me even more, and I am deeply indebted to her. When my friends challenge me to a Pokémon battle, I always call on my playmate to help. My opponents get a little scared by her, but I tell them she won't bite.  _I'll_  do the biting.

We begin the match. My opponent uses their Vine Whip. My playmate snips it out of the way, just like that. They use Solar Beam. They think, my playmate for sure won't beat this. But no. What she lacks in power she has in wits and intellect. She beams the blinding beam back to my opponent, a perfect ricochet. She never fails to serve me. And I never fail to boast our success. Thanks to her…I'm become more secure of myself. I proudly announce our victory. "I crushed you there, little bitch!" She helps instill in me confidence that I never thought I had, to say things, to be who I want to be.

I return home with my playmate by my side, and we share a very pleasant shower together. The doctor orders more bloodletting. It is part of our emotional therapy. Don't call me old fashioned, but I've always believed in bloodletting as therapy. And my playmate is happy to oblige.

She carefully cuts me, and a red plume of pleasure erupts out of me. Like a volcano, bursting from the smooth, shiny scales of my body. It's supposed to hurt, I know, but somehow the skill she uses to slice through my veins, the years of training…she creates masterpiece of passion and pleasure out of the life force flowing in the intricate rivers inside me; a sensory experience that if it were a painting, would grace the walls of the great art galleries of the world.

Wait…maybe there has been some misunderstanding here. I forgot to tell you. See, I have this hunting knife. Hand-forged out of stainless steel, polished to a perfect sheen, and a mother-of-pearl handle, because my hand gets clammy when I wield it in my hand. The perfect playmate.

Everyone's got that knife in their throat, stopping their voices from being heard. I used to be unheard. Thanks to her, I've pulled out the knife in my throat, I don't need it anymore. Not with her by my side. I hold her with control and conviction grasped in my hand. I rejoice in a clear, smooth breath of fresh air.


End file.
